Of Courtesans and Darkspawn
by Bathorybabe
Summary: The darkspawn horde have pushed across the ocean to a foreign and beautiful land known as Terre d'Ange. Alistair and Zeveran travel to the strange new world and encounter a culture completely foreign to them. A highly AU of both DA and the Kuhiel's Legacy sereies. I totally got a wild thought in my head and decided, why not? Alistair/Phedre. Will eventually be M, but T for now.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Okay, totally got a wild hair of an idea and decided to run with it. The Kushiel's Legacy series by Jaqueline Carey is by far one of the most beautifully written and gripping stories I have ever read. I adore them! EVERYONE should pick up a copy of the first book (Kushiel's Dart). They are meant for a mature audience as there are graphic depictions of sex in the books. **

**Anywho, I got to thinking about how the nation of Terre d'Ange would react to the darkspawn and how Phedre would handle a charming, bumbling, and chaste templar. Highly AU for both cannons. I have made some changes to the original storylines to better fit my needs:**

**Alistair is still a virgin, did not have sex with morrigan, and did NOT leave when Loghain was conscripted into the wardens. As for the KL series, in my world Joscelin died on the fields of Troys le Mont (i know, I love me some brooding casseline, but I needed Phedre free to pursue Alistair!). Melisandre has yet to spin her deadly plot in La Serenissima so this takes place between Dart and Chosen.**

Alistair glanced out from between the curtains of the opulent carriage to take in the foreign city surrounding him. Lavish stone work and fragrant trees blurred past as the horses bore him closer to the royal palace. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, and certainly nothing like Denerim. Denerim had its own kind of stark beauty, but nothing compared to this. And the people! Every person they had passed seemed to him to be more beautiful than the last. In fact, there was little about his place that did not paint a pleasing picture. Whatever he had expected he was woefully unprepared for the reality that was the land of Terre d'Ange.

Sighing wistfully Alistair twitched the curtains shut and leaned back against the plush cushion of the seats. He closed his eyes and let the gentle sway of the carriage's progress lull him into a semi-conscious state as he brooded over the course of events that had brought him to this strange land.

As with most trials and tribulations in his life as of late, it began with the darkspawn. A broodmother to be exact. Whilst Alistair had been encamped at Soldier's peak, overseeing the restoration of the Grey Warden's fortress, his dear friend Solona Amell had been off having a grand old time of it battling an encroaching darkspawn threat. She had returned, triumphant, and bearing dire news that would change everything the Warden's ever believed.

"They've expanded," Solona had said to the gathered force of the Wardens.

"What do you mean….expanded? Have they put on a bit of weight?" Alistair joked feebly, worried at the ominous sounds of his friend's words. Solona spared him an exasperated glance before continuing with her explanation.

"The horde as expanded west, far beyond the borders of Ferelden."

"But…there's nothing west of the boarders but the ocean," a young recruit called out, confused as to what the Commander's words betokened. Alistair wasn't sure he had understood them himself, but he could feel a growing unease in the pit of his stomach.

"Nothing that we were previously aware of," she replied mysteriously. The recruits shifted nervously, questions hovering on their tongues. Solona let out a sigh and began massaging her temples in frustration. "Look, haven't any of you picked up a map? Do you see what is written near the edges? 'Here there be monsters.' We haven't charted all of the world! There are lands unknown to us, and the bloody fucking darkspawn have beat us to it!"

Alistair went white with shock and gripped Solona by the shoulders.

"How?" he demanded with a small shake, "how do you know this?"

"When we defeated the mother, her parting words to me were 'we've crossed the ocean and found a brave new world' before she laughed in my face and died. I wanted to believe she was taunting me, but upon further investigation of the deep roads, specifically those closest to the western coast, I have discovered a series of never ending tunnels stretching far below ground. I tried tracking them, I truly did. My men and I spent the better part of two months traversing the blasted things, but they seemed to go on forever. There was no end to them. The Mother spoke the truth; the horde has crossed the ocean to lands unknown."

Alistair stared down at her in horror. All her tales of the Architect, the Mother, and now this mysterious migration boded ill for mankind. The darkspawn were evolving, maturing into something more than hideous, mindless beats who served the will of the arch demon. Maker only knew what this would bring about.

"I've consulted with our scribes and after much searching and false promises I have discovered what I believe to be the nation the horde is heading towards," Solona replied softly as she reached into her robes and withdrew an ancient text, the pages fair crumbling with age. She carefully opened to a marked page where and pointed to a badly faded map. "Terre d'Ange. It is the most likely choice. It seems we knew of this place once, long ago, before Andraste walked the realm. But the lands shifted and over the centuries the ocean that divided us grew vast and its memory was lost to time."

"Which should make it oh-so-convenient to find," Alistair muttered as he squinted to inspect the map. "What, exactly, is it you purpose we do?"

"I propose that we send an envoy to Terre d'Ange, along with a small contingent of men, and try our best to stop the darkspawn in their tracks," Solona stated as she withdrew the book from Alistair's view. Alistair lifted an eyebrow in suspicion and folded his arms across his chest.

"And who would this envoy be?" He asked; his voice wary.

"Glad you asked, Alistair," she replied with a sheepish grin.

"No," he said with a shake of his head, "Absolutely not. I'm shit at diplomacy. Send Howe, he's got all that-that….noble upbringing. He'd be great at rallying the troops and talking to foreign rulers!"

"Nathanial is currently on assignment at the moment, Alistair. I need someone who can handle themselves in battle, and more importantly I need someone who knows the ritual for the joining. If this gets as bad as I think it's going to, you're going to have to recruit a lot of locals. Please, Alistair?" Solona pleaded, her eyes filled with fear and worry. Maker, how he had wanted to refuse, every logical nerve in his body was _screaming_ at him to refuse. But one look into those pleading honey colored eyes of Solona's and he was undone. She was his dearest friend, his closest confidant, and the Commander of the Grey; anything she asked of him was his to obey.

"Fine," he muttered grumpily, crossing his in petulance, "I'll be your bloody envoy. Just know that I'm not happy about it."

"It was hard to tell from your tone of voice. Thank you ever so much for clearing that up, Alistair," She replied with a wry smile. Try as he might he couldn't keep the stern countenance in his expression and his lips twitched in an answering grin.

"That's what I'm here for, pointing out the obvious. Hey! I guess I will make a good envoy! That's what they do, right?"

"Yes, in addition to facilitating the needs of state and country, yes…they point out the obvious. Now go, gather your men, you depart on the morrow," Solona said with a friendly punch to his shoulder. Alistair stuck his tongue out at her before turning to take his leave. "One more thing!" She called out as he was about to make his exit, "Take Zevran with you!"

The memory of being ordered to take the infuriating elf with him snapped Alistair back to the present and he opened his eyes to glare at his traveling companion.

"Is something wrong, my friend?" Zevran asked with a grin.

"What could possibly be wrong?" Alistair asked sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

"Are you concerned over your fellow warden's safety perhaps?" The elf continued, ignoring the sullen man's disposition. "You were quite reluctant to leave them at the city gates."

"No," Alistair said with a sigh, turning once more to glance out the window, "they'll manage well enough." When they had arrived at the gates of the City of Eula bearing the sealed missives that held Queen Anora's stamp, the city guards had begrudgingly allow only Alistair and Zevran inside, with a fully armed escort to the palace. Alistair's fellow wardens were forbidden entrance, posing too much an unknown threat to Terre d'Ange monarch to be allowed inside. The recruits had simply shrugged and settled in to the routine of making camp. When the carriage that would bear them to the palace had pulled away from the gates, Alistair saw the city guards mingling with the wardens, offering drink and sport to pass the night. There is a hidden camaraderie between enlisted men, no matter their nationality. Having been coddled as the secret heir to the Ferelden throne, Alistair never had gotten to experience such an easy way of making friends.

"Then what troubles the handsome templar?" Zevran once again prodded, his brow furrowed.

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that," Alistair sighed, "you know it makes me uncomfortable."

"All the more reason to do so then, no?" The elf laughed.

"I'm worried about our reception," Alistair ground out through clenched teeth, trying to steer his companion back to the matter at hand, "for all we know these people have never even seen a darkspawn, let alone heard of them. We'll be lucky if they don't think we've gone completely round the bend."

"That is the risk you take when you bring dire news to foreign shores," Zevran replied with a shrug. He glanced out the window and his eyes lit up with mischief, "And what shores they are! Have you seen the people, Alistair? Such beauty, such grace! I do believe I shall enjoy my time here in this land."

"By the Maker, is that all you think about?" Alistair asked as he felt the carriage slow to a gentle halt. Zevran did not have time to answer for in short order the carriage door was thrown open and a dour looking guard was motioning for the men to exit.

"Here we go," Alistair whispered before disembarking. Zevran quickly followed, his easy manner a mere mask. Only someone who had spent the better part of a year traveling with the man would recognize the way his eyes took in everything around him, assessed every threat. Despite Alistair's dislike for the elf, he couldn't help but begrudgingly admit that he made a damned good assassin, and who better to look for ambushes than someone who built his fortune on laying them?

Alistair and Zevran were led through the stables to a heavy wood door. It was then that the guards turned to face the two men.

"You must disarm yourselves, my lords," the man in charge of the outing ordered, his face betraying no indication of his feeling, "no one is to bear arms in the presence of the Queen."

Alistair hesitated, casting a worried glance at Zevran. The elf ever so slightly tilted his head in support, his hands straying to his waist. It would make no matter if they were to remove their blades, Zevran, being the sneaky bastard he was, had at least a dozen cunning daggers hidden about his person. Should they have need of weapons, they at the very least would not be unprepared. Alistair schooled his expression into one of boredom and shrugged, reaching back to remove the two long swords strapped to his back. Zev followed suit and the guard grunted in thanks. It was then that the two men were swept through the front doors and into the palace proper.

As they were led through a series of hallways Alistair couldn't help but keep the wonder off his face. The castle at Denerim was all heavy wood and stone, dark and oppressive…but this place? Mable gleamed from every corner, polished to a mirror shine; gold frescoes peered down on them from the ceiling, depicting battles and ethereal creatures of great beauty. And everywhere they turned they encountered nobility, dressed in lavish and sensual fabrics; velvets and brocades, delicates silks draped in pearls and gems. Never in his life had he seen such opulence, it was a bit overwhelming.

"One thing's for sure," he whispered to Zevran, "this place is _nothing_ like Ferelden." Zev said nothing, too entranced by his surroundings to form a coherent thought. At last they were brought before two great doors embossed with a design of silver leaves twining through the grain of the wood. The guard exchanged a quiet word with the attendant standing nearby and handed him the missives from Queen Anora. The attendant's eyes widened in surprise but nodded quickly before motioning for the doors to be opened. Alistair drew in a deep breath and fixed his gaze on the floor before him. He could hear the attendant's staff bang three times against the marble floor before announcing their presence to the regent.

"Your Majesty, may I present Alistair Theirin of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden and Zevran Arainai of Antiva."

As if on cue, the two men strode forward, neither willing to look up. When they had gone but a few paces they caught the edge of the dais in their vision to drew to a halt, sweeping deep, respectful bows and held them. Silence hung in the air as they waited for the ruler of Terre d'Ange to acknowledge their presence. After a few heart-stopping moments a cool, even voice bid them to rise. Alistair did so and found himself staring into the most startling pair of lavender eyes he had ever seen.

The woman was breath-stealingly beautiful, like a piece of artwork breathed to life. Her skin was a pale alabaster, colored with the faintest of blushes beneath her cheeks. Hair so blonde the word seemed inadequate tumbled from her head and curved along the delicate line of her neck. And atop that flaxen gold sat a delicate crown made of silver webbing and pearls. The queen of Terre d'Ange. Alistair managed to tear his gaze away from her to take in the man seated to her right.

He felt the recognition of another warrior immediately. Strong ropes of muscle corded through the mans arms and chest, bare except for a brilliant gold torque and red cape thrown over one shoulder. Strange blue markings swirled along his skin and face, giving him a fierce and frightening quality. His dark eyes were shrewd, taking in the measure of the two men standing before him. Alistair glanced down at the misshapen foot that sat awkwardly on the dais. A clubfoot, then, but as Alistair raised his gaze once more to be pinned by those measuring eyes, he was sure the man had cut down anyone foolish enough to believe the deformity made his an easy target.

"Greetings," the Queen intoned, her voice strong and soft all at once, "Terre d'Ange and her Husband, the nation of Alba bids welcome to the nation of Ferelden. What is it you seek?"

So there was no be no beating around the bush then, Alistair realized with dismay and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Your Majesty, I am Alistair Theirin, lieutenant of Ferelden's order of the Grey Wardens, and I bring dire news from our regent; her royal majesty, Queen Anora."

He watched as the attendant strode forward and with a bow presented the monarchs with the missives. The queen nodded in thanks and broke the wax seals, leaving the room in silence once more as she read their contents. When she had finished she handed them to her husband and motioned for the attendant to draw near. She murmured a quiet request in his ear and he bowed quickly before departing to obey her command.

"I do not claim to understand what exactly your purpose is here," the queen stated icily, "you come bearing tales of monsters that rise from the earth and blight the land, and your Queen begs us leave to allow you to recruit citizens of our fair land into an order that means nothing to them. You ask a great deal for a land that we have heard nary a word from in centuries."

"You've heard of Ferelden?" Alistair blurted out without thinking.

"You may have let the memory of Terre d'Ange crumble into dust, but we are a land that takes pleasure in our history. So too does the nation of Alba remember the land of Ferelden, and earth's oldest children have a very long memory," the Queen replied solemnly.

Alistair regained his composure and let out a shaky breath.

"Your majesty, I know that this all sounds a fanciful tale, but believe me when I say the danger is real. The darkspawn have waged war against Thedas for centuries, hell bent on destroying mankind. They seek to obey the old gods, made flesh in the form a great dragon known as the arch demon. When the horde grows large and the arch demon powerful they march on the land, leaving devastation in their wake. This is what is called a blight, your Majesty, and there have been four in living memory, the most recent ending only months ago."

"If that is the case then what is the danger, why are you here now asking for aid?" The Queen demanded.

"Just because you have defeated a general, your Majesty, does not mean that the enemy is vanquished," Zevran replied quietly from Alistair's side. He shot the elf a sidelong glance, but Zev merely shrugged before turning his attention back to the regent.

"What my companion said is true, your majesty. Slaying the arch demon merely sends the creatures retreating back underground, to the deep roads, where they grow their numbers and wait once more for an old god to be made flesh."

"Even if I were to believe such a tale, what does this have to do with Terre d'Ange?" the Queens husband asked quietly with only the slightest trace of an accent. "It seems these creatures are native to your land, not ours."

"That is so, your…your…highness?" Alistair guessed, unsure as how to address the man. He saw the man's lips curl into a slight smile and relaxed just a fraction.

"I am Drustan mab Necantha, Cruarch of Alba, husband to Ysandre de la Courcel. And while I was not crown King of Terre d'Ange I am ruler of my homeland. Your Majesty is the correct way to address me," he said without inflection, but his eyes sparkled in amusement.

"Forgive me, your majesty," Alistair replied with a small bow before continuing with his tale. "It is true that the darkspawn have never ventured beyond the edges of our lands before, but the Grey Warden commander recently discovered hidden tunnels in the deep roads leading out of Thedas and across the sea. We believe these passages lead to your eastern shores. That is why we have come, your Majesty, to beat back the horde and prevent the darkspawn from gaining a new foothold in the world."

The two rulers sat silent, regarding the men with shrewd eyes. Alistair shifted uncomfortably, wondering whether to break the silence or if protocol dictated that he keep his mouth shut. After what seemed like an eternity the Queen leaned forward in her throne and addressed the men.

"It is a gripping tale, and we have heard reports coming from Eisdane of bodies found mutilated in isolated farm holdings. But whether I can credit your tale with truth is still to be determined."

"They are telling the truth, your majesty," a lilting voice called out from behind them, and Alistair whirled about, seeking out its owner.

He forgot how to breathe. He had thought the queen beautiful, and she was, but it was a stiff, regal beauty, the beauty of one who is meant to be adored and fawned upon. This woman…she was a walking dream. Rich, thick, mahogany hair was caught up in a delicate net of seed pearls set at the nape of her graceful neck. Her lips were a soft cherry, perfectly formed into a delicate smile that sat upon her creamy skin. And her eyes, they were a soft, deep bistre, and Alistair swore he could see a single fleck of scarlet floating within one, like a rose petal on dark waters.

"Or at least the truth as they believe it," the woman continued before sweeping a curtsey to the queen.

"Oh, Phedre, do get up," the Queen said with exasperation. The woman smiled indulgently and gracefully rose to her feet. "May I introduce Sir Alistair Therein of Ferelden and Zevran Arainai of Antiva. Gentlemen this is the Comtesse Phedre no Delaunay de Montreve."

Zevran politely swept a bow but Alistair was still to dumbstruck by the woman in front of him to do much more than stare open mouthed at her like a fish. Phedre raised an eyebrow in amusement and he cleared his throat before awkwardly and hastily bending at the waist.

"It is a pleasure, my lady," he muttered, his voice cracking on the words. From behind him he could hear Zevran let out a quiet chuckle.

"The pleasure is all my, my lords," she replied with a smile before turning to face the regents, "as I was saying, your majesty, they are not lying. This tale they tell is as real to them as the story of Elua is to us."

"Why do you say that?" Alistair asked, "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, just wondering what I managed to say to convince you."

"Do you know the ten tell-tale signs of a lie, messier?" Phedre asked sweetly, batting those luminous eyes at him. Alistair merely shook his head and blushed. "I do, and you exhibit none of them."

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "that's something I suppose."

"Getting back to the matter at hand," Ysandre said slowly and deliberately, causing Alistair to remember himself and turn back to the queen in embarrassment, "if this news you bring is indeed true, it is a very dire announcement indeed. I shall need to think on it. We shall reconvene on the morrow. You shall be given rooms within the palace for the duration. You are free to explore the city as you wish, but you are to remain within its walls. You are dismissed. You as well Phedre."

Alistair, Zevran, and the woman all bowed politely before taking their leave of the throne room. Once the ornate doors had been closed behind them Alistair let out a shaky breath.

"Well, that could have gone better," he muttered.

"You were lying when you said you were shit at diplomacy, were you my friend?" Zevran asked wryly, his arms crossed.

"Oh shut it, Zevran, like you could do any better."

"Gentlemen," Phedre interrupted softly, amusement clear in her voice, "do not worry. Ysandre is a wise, and caring ruler. She will not turn you away. You must needs give her time to see the truth in your words. Until then there is nothing you can do but take her up on her hospitality and wait for her decision."

"You are right, my lady," Zevran said, his voice taking on that all too charming seductive tone as he swept his gaze over curves. Alistair rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Thank you very much, Comtess for intervening on our behalf," he replied formally, drawing her attention away from the elf. "We shall do as you recommend and wait for the Queen's decision."

"A wise choice, my lord," she said with a shallow curtsey. "In the mean time feel free to avail yourself of the city's charms. The palace boasts a large hall of games, and the woods are filled with deer this time of year should you desire a hunt."

"I'd much prefer the entertainment of your company, mia amor," Zevran purred, bringing her hand to his lips in a seductive kiss. To her credit Phedre merely smiled at him before softly withdrawing her hand.

"Or perhaps you desire something more? In that case I suggest you visit the night court, my lords. Here," she said, her hands opening the small velvet purse at her waist. She withdrew two ivory tokens embossed with the stamp of delicate flower. "These tokens shall grant you access to any of the houses you desire to visit. Use them well, and love as thou wilt, my friends."

Zevran and Alistair took the tokens in puzzlement as she bowed one last time and turned to glide gracefully down the hallway and out of their sight.

"She is quite beautiful, no?" Zevran remarked wistfully as he stared at the token in his hand.

"What in Andraste's name is the night court?" Alistair replied thoughtfully.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N this chapter was hard to write, and I'm not sure I'm happy with it...thoughts are appriciated (constructively, please!)**

That night Alistair and Zevran, dressed in borrowed finery from the palace hired a carriage to take them past the lively area of town known as Night's Doorstep and up the curving road of Mount Nuit. And as they stepped inside one of the beautiful manors that dotted the rise, Alistair realized exactly what the Night Court was.

"It's a brothel!" Alistair hissed as they stood inside the doors of Eglantine house. At his outburst a nearby group of young women giggled in delight and stared at the two foreigners with mirth in their eyes. They were lovely, as was everyone in attendance, and patrons and adepts alike were engaged in every kind of creative pursuit that Alistair could imagine. There was a great deal of mirth in the air…mirth and something else. The women batted their eyes at Alistair, silently beckoning him closer with good cheer. The dowayne of the house was less than amused.

"Eglantine house is _not_ a brothel," Ismae no Eglantine said with dignity, "None of the thirteen houses of the night court are, messiere. We worship blessed Eula as he bid us and give homage to Nammah. Every one of my adepts are skilled in the service to which they have dedicated themselves, I could arrange a showing should you so desire."

Alistair blushed at the reprimand and Zevran rolled his eyes in exasperation before turning to the dowayne.

"Forgive my companion, dear lady, he is…how you say, prudish when it comes to the act of love, having never divined the pleasures to be found there," the elf said with an apologetic bow. Ismae's expression softened into one of amusement as she regarded the templar with new eyes.

"An untried virgin, you say? Elua, that is rich! Come, my lords, I shall show you what Eglantine has to offer in the ways of Nammah."

The dowayne ran a hand down Alistair's arm before turning to lead them into an inner salon. The two men followed, Zevran's eyes fixed pointedly on the dowayne's sashaying rear. Alistair nudged the elf with his elbow, shooting him a pointed look to which Zevran waggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

Ismae led them to a quiet room strewn with sumptuous pillows where a curtained stage lay recessed in the center of the room. She motioned for the two men to sit and they both reclined on the pillows; Zevran with a fluid grace and Alistair with an awkward stumble.

Within moments a man and a woman entered, clad only in silken robes and glided gracefully to the stage, the curtains parting to allow them access. Alistair swallowed hard when he saw a bed positioned there. Shortly thereafter a trio of musicians followed and settled themselves inconspicuously off to the side. They began to play a soft and seductive melody, the sounds of harp, drum and lute twining through the air like a perfume.

"This, messieres, is how we serve Nammah," Ismae murmured in amusement as she gestured to the couple.

It began innocently enough with a kiss, the man running his fingers through the woman's fiery hair as his lips pressed lightly against hers. Alistair shifted uncomfortably at witnessing such an act and glanced at his companion, searching for a clue as to how to behave. Zevran paid him no mind, his attention focused solely on the two people before them.

It was when the man gently parted the woman's robe, sliding it along her creamy skin and letting it pool into a puddle of silk on the floor, that Alistair stood up, his cheeks a blaze with embarrassment. He averted his eyes just as the man ran a teasing hand along the woman's chest.

"I don't think I can do this," Alistair whispered hurriedly, hoping that Zevran would, just once, think with his brain and not the organ that seemed to rule his every thought.

"I understand my friend," the elf said dismissively, never removing his gaze from the performance happening before him, "I trust you can find your own way back to the palace, yes?"

Alistair sighed in dismay before turning to take his leave, the sound of a soft moan of pleasure chasing him out of the room. He hurried quickly through the hallways and solars of Eglantine house, desperately seeking the exit. Spying a set of glass doors that led outside he smiled in triumph and slipped out into the cool night air.

To his dismay he realized he had not escaped, merely landed himself in a small, walled in garden within the houses grounds.

"Andraste's sanctified girdle, can I please catch a break?" he muttered in frustration as he glanced about his surroundings. At last his eyes came to rest on a small statue situated near a fountain, surrounded by flowers growing wild. Curious, Alistair strode over to the object, careful not to trample the flowers that dotted the land. He kneeled before the effigy, his eyes narrowed in studious thought. Depicting the image of a young man, the statue was made of flawless white marble and stood mo more than three feet high. The man held out his palm, almost in an offering, and his face wore a serene, content expression. Alistair couldn't help but notice, amidst the flowers nestled at the base, that the man was barefoot.

"Blessed Elua," a woman's voice murmured from behind him. He jumped up in surprise and quickly turned to face the visitor. Phedre no Delaunay stood before him, a cloak of red so dark it was almost black pinned about her shoulders. She smiled at him in amusement before walking gracefully over to join him.

"Comtesse," Alistair squeaked as he hastened to bow. She let out a chuckle and placed a hand on his elbow, bidding him to rise.

"Please don't. Call me Phedre, I beseech you. I am still unused to being named a peer of the realm. It is very foreign to me, I am much more comfortable being what I was than the Comtesse de Montreve."

"I understand what you mean," Alistair said with a grin, "it seems that once someone gives you a title of nobility it mucks everything up, doesn't it?"

"I suppose you could look at it that way, I certainly have received far more invitations from prospective patrons since acquiring the title," she laughed, her eyes sparkling.

"Patrons? What exactly were you before becoming a noble, Phedre?"

"I keep forgetting you are not native to Terre d'Ange, though you certainly are handsome enough to pass." She paused then, amused at the blush that colored his cheeks at the word 'handsome.' Her lips curved into a wry smile before answering his question, "Before I became a peer of the realm, I was a servant of Nammah, and still dedicate my services to her."

Alistair stared at her in shock and took a step back.

"You mean-that is-you-you're one of _them?_ Is that why you're here?" he stammered, trying to wrap his mind around this bit of news. _What sort of backwards kingdom is this where nobility are common prostitutes?_

"If by one of _them_ you are referring to Eglantine adapts, then no, I do belong to their house, nor any other for that matter, but I am still a servant of Nammah. I am here receiving tumbling lessons. I had need of the skill recently and found myself sorely lacking. Eglantine house claims artisans of all crafts, so who better to learn such a skill from?" she replied lightly, her voice carrying a bit of indignation at his tone. Alistair swallowed and tried to control his discomfort.

"I apologize, Phedre, I am unaccustomed to being around women of your…profession."

"There are a great number of men pledged into Nammah's service as well. Why should you blush and stammer so when encountered with such a person?" Phedre asked quizzically, somewhat baffled at his puritanical attitude.

"I was raised by the chantry and pledged to the templars. I was taught chivalry from the cradle up, that is why," Alistair explained lamely, "and I have…well, I have never found a woman…that is, what I mean is-" Phedre cut him off with a giggle.

"I think I understand, Alistair, you do not need to explain any further. It seems I am to be plagued by chaste warriors for the rest of my days." Alistair cocked an eyebrow at the comment and watched as a wave of pain passed over her lovely face. She shrugged it off after a moment and remembered herself. "Come," she said, motioning to a bench situated near the statue of Elua, "sit and I shall explain why service to Nammah is a holy thing."

Alistair shrugged and followed, settling himself next to her, refusing to meet her eyes as she related the tale of Blessed Eula and his companions, how they wandered the earth and Nammah lay down in the stews with kings and commoners alike in sacrifice to him. How they found the land of what would become Terre d'Ange,, how the people welcomed them and mingled with the angels and Eula himself, creating beautiful offspring that spread the message of 'love as thou wilt.'

"And that is what it means to serve Nammah, it is a sacred service, one entered into willingly, or not at all," she finished, smiling.

Alistair remained silent, his head reeling with the strange form of worship. To pay reverence with sex? It was ludicrous. But perhaps the idea that a deity would care so much for the people who prayed to them was what he had such issue with. After all the Chantry teaches that the Maker has left his children, turning his back on Thedas, never to return.

"Alistair?" Phedre inquired hesitantly, unsure how to take his silence.

"It is a pretty story, Phedre, but it is still so strange to me," he supplied, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"That is because you have not experience Nammah's grace yet, perhaps if you were to experience-"

"What?" Alistair yelped, jumping up and away from her, "I couldn't! I mean, you are beautiful women, the most beautiful…and it's not that I'm not flattered, but, I hardly know you!"

Phedre watched his outburst calmly, regarding him with those strange eyes, and merely nodded in acquiescence when he had finished.

"So be it, Alistair, just know the offer is there, and considering my reputation, you are quite fortunate to receive such an offer, especially since I am quite certain your tastes are not that of my usual clientele."

"What exactly is your clientele?" Alistair asked, coughing out of discomfort, "you said you didn't belong to a house, yet you are a-a servant of Nammah?"

"Yes, my marque was purchased from Cereus house by a nobleman and I was adopted into his house; Anafiel Delaunay, I bear his name still. And as such I contract my patrons at my choosing and not at the behest of a house dowayne," she explained, smoothing out her skirts and she rose to approach him, "I bear Kushiel's dart, Alistair, it marks me as an anguisette, the first in living memory."

Alistair stared at her in bewilderment, confusion plain on his face. Phedre sighed and pointed to the fleck of crimson floating in the depth of her marked eye. He simply cocked an eyebrow at her, still not understanding.

"It means that I experience pleasure from pain," she stated simply and Alistair stumbled back, almost toppling the statue of Elua over in the progress. He fumbled to right the effigy and cursed as he trampled the flowers around the base.

"It's late," he stammered, "I should return to the palace."

"Alistair, it is nothing that I am ashamed of-" Phedre protested, slightly put off at his reaction.

"I should go, I'm sorry. Good evening Comtesse," Alistair stated with a quick bow as he hurried past her and back into Eglantine house. After a few wrong turns he managed to find the exit and was relieved to find the carriage they had hired still waiting for their return. The whole way back to the palace Alistair thought back on Phedre's words, desire, disgust, and curiosity waging war within him.

* * *

_Phedre wearily made her way back to the palace that evening and paced nervously in the Queen's receiving room. Never before had she misjudged a patron, and as sure as Eula had walked the earth, Alistair was a patron of hers. She felt it in her bones, that flutter of wings and the presence of Kushiel pressing down on her. But when she had offered herself, even after explaining her origin, he had fled into the night, horrified at her admission. _

_ She was pulled from her thoughts at the soft opening of a door. Phedre sank into a low curtsey as Ysandre glided towards her, eyes crusted with sleep._

_ "Have you learned anything, near cousin?" the queen asked with a yawn as she bid Phedre rise._

_ "I did not, my lady, he was…unreceptive."_

_ "Losing your touch, Phedre?" Ysandre inquired, her eyes disbelieving._

_ "Perhaps if you hadn't sent me after a pious virgin," Phedre stated with a little more bite than she intended. "Forgive me your majesty, I apologize. I am tired and unhappy that I could not do as you ask."_

_ And ask she had, Ysandre had sent Phedre on a path to seduce Alistair Theirin, in the hopes of gathering Ferelden's true intentions in sending an diplomatic envoy to Terre d'Ange's shore. _

_ "I shall have to postpone a decision then" Ysandre remarked hesitantly, "I am unwilling to allow these men to recruit from our citizens to fight an enemy I have never seen nor heard. It is far too great a risk to take."_

_ "As you wish, Your Majesty, I shall endeavor to try again, should you so desire."_

_ "No, that is more than alright. I was foolish to even suggest such a thing. You have made your marque and are beholden to know one. It was presumptuous of me to ask this of you," Ysandre murmured apologetically._

_ "I would do this and more to ensure that you are secure in your throne, your Majesty," Phedre replied fiercely, dedication clear in her voice. Ysandre smiled and gently hugged her, gratitude writ plain in her gaze._

_ "Anafiel Delaunay would have been proud of you, Phedre, of that I truly believe."_


End file.
